


Sharing Spaces

by Lets_call_me_Lily



Category: Leverage
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Background Case, Gen, Multi, Post-Canon, Pre-Relationship, Protection, Sharing a Bed, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-02
Updated: 2019-11-02
Packaged: 2020-12-28 20:41:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21142883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lets_call_me_Lily/pseuds/Lets_call_me_Lily
Summary: Moments in the life of Leverage Intl. as the team looks out for one another on a case.





	Sharing Spaces

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tablelamp](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tablelamp/gifts).

> This is a post-canon AU where Hardison and Parker hadn't stopped circling 'round each other yet, so are not an established relationship.
> 
> Thanks to [Hagar](archiveofourown.org/users/hagar) for the quick beta and to [Meeya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweetFanfics) for helping to figure out what that last sentence should be.
> 
> I tried to fit in hints of a few of your chosen tropes, fingers crossed it works and you like the fic, tablelamp!

“No,” she says, arms crossed tight. “It’s got to be me. You aren’t convincing enough.”

“Dang, woman, tell it like it is!” Hardison exclaims from the couch where he’s doing some complicated computer thing that makes Eliot’s head hurt.

“You could hurt a man, with a tongue as sharp as that,” he says.

She squints at him, curiosity gleaming off her adorable head-tilt, and Eliot can tell that she’s trying to imagine killing someone with her tongue as she flicks it absent-mindedly to the roof of her mouth. He intercepts before she can ask.

“Not literally, Parker. I mean that you could hurt someone’s feelings—"

“—Or their ego!”

No longer interested, Parker goes back to glaring Eliot into submission in vain. There’s a very distinctive flexing going on that only happens when she’s trying to intimidate someone, and a furrow that only appears when she’s doing her _I’m Eliot the hitter, do what I say and don’t ask questions_ face in particular. It’s flattering that she thinks he’s a good role model; not so much that this is what she thinks is worth imitating. She could use some better frying-pan handling skills, though.

She’s serious about this. Well, too bad, because so is he. And his glare wins out over hers any day.

“I’m the mastermind now,” she insists. “And last time someone tried to be me, Hardison got kidnapped!”

“Aww, come on.” He gestures at himself in a broad sweep, careful to keep his palm loose and facing inwards. “You think I’m as bad as Hardison? I’ve done this before, Parker. Successfully.”

He sets his face, ready to convince her that he can take care of this job, take care of this team, when a distinctive tread stops outside their office-space. Amy sticks her head through the door.

“That lady is here,” she says. “I sat her at the back like you asked.”

“Thanks, Amy!” Parker unfolds and bounces over to thrust the door open and give Amy a hug. She and Eliot have been working on instigating friendly contact this week, the latest of Sophie’s long-distance assignments. Amy has been bearing the brunt of it so far. She hugs back, catches Eliot’s glower, and mouths “still too tight” at him. Then she pries Parker off with a kind word and goes back to the brewpub to keep watch.

Eliot likes how tight Parker hugs. Like she’s hugging because she wants to, like she’s not going to let go without a fight. And he knows that Parker can put up quite the fight, now that he’s had the chance to work on her hand-to-hand skills. Still, he’ll get Hardison to do some tensile strength experiments with her, so she doesn’t accidentally squeeze the life out of civilians.

They walk down together to meet with their newest client: Eliot in the front in case things get hinky, Parker at the back so that she can do a dramatic entrance if she wants to, and Hardison walking between them with his head still buried in his phone. Eliot’s keeping watch on the exits and making sure Hardison doesn’t trip over himself (it’s happened before), but he’s not too busy to overlook that he has, by default, lost the argument.

Parker looks far too smug for that.

******

Hardison would like it noted that it was not his fault. _Really._ Eliot’s grouchy face might say otherwise, but Hardison works hard on this shit every day, okay? And he maintains that it’s not his fault that the mark’s husband has decided to feel Eliot up. That’s just not something you can catch every time, even with mad skills and Hardison’s illicit access to a vast array of online databases. It’s not like someone’s social media history or bank statements can reliably say “Hi, I like inappropriately grabbing men that I’ve just met even though I’m married,” and this guy has no criminal record to speak of other than a slew of parking tickets.

Anyway, with compact muscle like that, who can blame him for wanting to lay hands on that fine specimen of a man? Oh, wait, everyone can, because Eliot didn’t agree to it happening. In fact, Eliot’s expression says that he vehemently disagrees with being fondled in this way, and that the mark’s husband (Gregory, and what a smarmy name, ugh) is going to find himself in considerable pain in the next 10 seconds if he doesn’t stop. Hardison’s boy likes contact on his own terms only.

Jumping tracks, Hardison clenches his hands into fists, walks over to the pair despite Eliot’s warning twitch, and growls—yes, Eliot, that’s what it is, damn your judgemental eyebrows—growls, “Get your hands off the principal, yo. Or theys gonna be permanently dislocated.”

In his ear, Parker gleefully tells him that she’s one click away from unlocking the safe combination, so if he’s going to make a scene it needs to be over in less than three minutes so that they can circle back to meet her and make their getaway. Eliot’s glare intensifies. It’s hard to tell whether it’s aimed at Hardison or at Gregory, at this point. He still can’t break cover as a mild-mannered, art-loving millionaire, though, so he can’t berate Hardison over the ridiculousness of his bodyguard persona. Instead, he steps back and murmurs a vague excuse about humouring his mother’s overprotective nature, muttering, “Damn it Hardison! I had it,” as soon as Gregory’s out of earshot.

“Of course you had it, Eliot, but man, I have it right now and it’s gonna go right, just keep walking.”

Hardison squeezes Eliot’s shoulder and leaves his hand there, pretending to lead him out before they double back to the side entrance and meet up with Parker. They don’t talk about it further, though once they’re all in the car together, Eliot’s hair looks happier and he’s reverted to his normal scowl.

“You’ve watched too many stupid action movies, Hardison,” he says finally. But his eyes crinkle in a silent smile, and that night he lets Hardison have orange soda with dinner, doesn’t complain about _that vitamin-forsaken piece of crap_ like he usually does. Eliot’s hand brushes affectionately over Hardison’s as he pours it into a glass because _heathens don’t get food at my table, respect the food, Hardison _and explains the pairing with soda-battered fish and home cut chips. He even lets Parker have cereal for dessert.

*****

Parker is alone. She can hear her breath and nothing else, and she can see her hands and nothing else.

She does not want to see her hands. They are not her hands, not like this, they cannot be, because if they are, it means that she’s not Parker anymore. She cannot be Parker with broken fingers, cannot do Parker’s job with skin split open and bones snapped and blood smearing evidence everywhere.

She tries to close her eyes. She cannot.

She wakes up.

Her hands feel fine, the only pain from the crescents left by her fingernails as they dug into the flesh of her palms. Still, she turns on all the lights and checks her fingers one by one. She inspects them in the mirror to make sure they’re still attached to her, to Parker.

They’re trembling slightly, and that’s not something she can afford. She gets dressed, tucks her hands in a jacket and then opens the door and steps out into Eliot. Who should be all the way on the other side of the hotel, so he’d have a clear view to her and Hardison’s rooms, and a separate escape route for his cover.

“Saw the lights on,” he says gruffly. His hair is a bit fluffier on one side than the other. He’s reaching out as if to knock. Did she wake him up? She should apologise; Sophie told her that waking people up without their pre-arranged permission is impolite, after that one time with the gold cat.

“What’s going on, Parker?”

Parker knows that she can’t just leave Eliot standing there, but she really needs to go and steal something. Lots of somethings. Just to prove she still can.

She twizzles Eliot’s key card through her fingers absentmindedly. He grunts, holds his hand out for it, and asks: “Need me to go out with you?”

“Yes. No.”

“Maybe?” He smiles faintly. “Don’t go breaking your brain with all these options, now.”

“I had a nightmare,” she blurts out, and fidgets some more.

Eliot looks at her steadily, waiting till she gives him something he can use. A way to help.

She doesn’t know what will help.

“Standing here ain’t gonna make either of us any more rested,” he says in the end, when it’s clear that no more explanations are coming for the time being. “Come to my room, you can practice stealing my hairbands while I sleep.”

“Okay. Oh, if I steal them, do I get to keep them? I can make a bungee cord for Bunny out of them, if I get enough!” She smiles and steps forward as Eliot extends a hand out to her.

“Yes Parker, you can keep them.”

*****

They’re setting up in yet another hotel, this one dingier and smaller than the last.

“There’s only one—how is there only one bed? Did Eliot, did he put the hotel staff up to this? I can’t sleep with you in the same bed!” Hardison’s voice is shrill. Hardison feels shrill, too, like he’s been stretched too tight and is screaming out high notes as a result. He just wants a couple hours of uninterrupted sleep somewhere that he can stretch out fully and try to drown out the stress-induced buzz that always settles at the base of his head after a long day at the screens. He does not need this bed situation happening. Definitely not now, and not with Parker, who he actually would like to sleep in the same bed with, under different circumstances.

“Eliot wouldn’t do that. He takes care of us, silly, and he knows you like a big bed,” Parker stares reprovingly at him from where she’s sitting cross-legged on the queen single.

“Don’t worry, I’m not Hardison-sized. We’ll both fit.” Unflustered, Parker starts shucking off her shirt, and Hardison spins automatically before he can see more than an inch of skin; he’s shaved off a few seconds since that first time where he’d frozen, shocked, before realising what was going on. Luckily the door is already shut.

“Girl!” He hasn’t managed to lose that pitch. “I know we could both fit, it’s not about that.”

Oh,” she says, still mystified. Then, after some fabric shuffling, “Ohh. This is like that thing where you and Eliot always turn around when I have to change costumes because you’re embarrassed to see my boobs!”

“No, no, we—” Hardison begins, but then interrupts himself. Doesn’t risk a look back.

“Yes, it’s kinda like that. You know we’re not embarrassed though, right? Mama, you’re beautiful and your body’s nothing to be ashamed of, we’re just trying to respect you.”

“So now you’re trying to respect me by not coming to bed and being tired all day tomorrow because you couldn’t sleep?”

“No, I’m going to give you the bed so that you don’t feel uncomfortable with me in your space, and I am gonna sleep much better than a baby—because come on, what were people thinking when they came up with that saying?—on this very comfortable carpet. And I will be a delight tomorrow, like I always am. I am a geek, baby, and I have hosted many a LAN party; plus, I do all the prep for our missions. Sleep deprivation ain’t nothing new.”

This is all true, minus that bit about the carpet, because it looks thin and grungy and not a good substitute for a mattress at all. But he’s not gonna tell Parker that, who do you take him for?

“I don’t need you to do that, Hardison. Come to bed.” Parker is adamant. Adamant Parker is not to be ignored, because the resultant Pouting Parker is a devastating force and also Hardison doesn’t feel up to wearing odd socks and searching for his favourite scarf for months. Not to mention needing to buy new plugs for every computer he owns.

_Okay. Okay, girl. If that’s what you want. _Hardison unties his shoes and pulls off his socks slowly, not looking up in case Parker isn’t covered in blankets yet.

“Can you at least put your shirt back on?” He asks plaintively.

He slips under the covers and lies straight on his back, wondering how in the hell he’s gonna stop himself from star-fishing in his sleep.

There is a vibrating weight along the bed beside him, an anchor in the dark, and he catches the gleam of Parker’s eyes, looking solidly back at him.

*****

This, Eliot thinks, is a minor inconvenience at best. He’s slept in much worse conditions, hell, he’s lived for months in squalor and wilderness with nothing but the clothes on his back. Still. Being stuck in a room where everything has been saturated by the water sprinklers glitching, in a fully-booked hotel whose last extra airbed has been used, is not ideal.

He could make it work. But maybe. Maybe he doesn’t have to? He thinks about Parker letting down her guard and sleeping against him on cons, thinks about Hardison’s kind hands when he kits Eliot up with electronics. There’s trust between them.

He gathers his bag and his courage and goes to knock on their door. After he’s been let in, he stands for a moment in the gloom.

“Why,” he asks, “is there only one bed?”

“Man, do I look like I know? The only thing I know is that we are definitely not coming to this hotel again, I don’t care what kind of con we’re running, nuh-uh, we can find a different place to be low-brow citizens in. Places with hot showers, and the right number of beds in the room.”

Parker stops Hardison’s indignant rant by bouncing back onto the bed, which emits a drawn-out squeal. She ignores his squawk and lies on her side, back to him and the door. The hotel window might be overlooking a five-story drop, but Eliot bets that she’s planned out at least three routes where it features as the primary exit. This positions her closest to it.

Eliot nudges Hardison into the middle of the bed and presses backward into his chest. Then someone moves, and Eliot finds himself braced for a fall as he gets shoved to the very edge of the bed.

A warm arm snakes around his waist to pull him back from the precipice, and they all breathe for a moment.

Oh, he thinks. This is nice.

Suddenly, Hardison shrieks and does a full-body flinch, legs jerking up reflexively into foetal position.

“That’s freezing!” Then, as a follow up, “why did you stick your toes on my legs? What did I do to deserve this cruelty? I’ve changed my mind, I’m sleeping on the floor.”

Parker is matter-of-fact. “My feet are cold.”

“So warm them up on your side of the bed! Or at least give me a warning. Damn, woman!”

“Stop whining and go to sleep, Hardison,” Eliot grumbles. He’d barely avoided a knee to the groin.

“Go to—how can I go to sleep when I’m turning to ice like Captain America!”

Parker says, “Who’s Captain America?”

Eliot says, “I’m not swapping places, we’re more secure this way.” With him facing the door, the first line of defence.

He covers Hardison's hand with his own, feels Parker's frozen-pea toes brush against his calves.

"Nerd talk in the morning. Go to sleep."

He takes first watch, listening to Parker whispering hushed questions about Captain America’s favourite cereal and Hardison expounding on the origins of the character in increasingly slower sentences.

It's all very nice.


End file.
